Rope's End by C.J. Dennis

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The Federal Session is drawing to a close, and Ministers are confident of getting into recess. - Recent news item.

   Ho, the good ship Fusion's 'ove in sight
      Of the 'arbor at Recess,
   She's sailin' slow with 'er 'ull down low,
      An' she's plainly in distress.
   'Er sheets is tore an' 'er gear's askew,
      She's a most unsightly ship;
   Fer she shipped a real ole rough-up crew,
      An' she's 'ad a crazy trip.

         But 'eave dull care
            Right overside,
         Fer the 'arbor's there,
            An' we'll gently ride
         Right into Port Recess.
                     O yes.
         To the safety of Recess.
Fer the cruise wus rough, an' we've 'ad enough
         Of a life on the rollin' sea;
Of the pitchin' an' the tossin', an' the floggin' and the bossin',
         And the threats of mu-tin-nee.

   Ho, the good ship Fusion's comin' in,
      An' 'er main-top gallant's gone;
   But we know she's safe by the wide, glad grin
      On the purser bold, B John.
   But the capting 'e ain't wild wi' glee,
      An' 'is troubles ain't done yet,
   Fer 'e knows 'e's failed in the course 'e sailed,
      An' the owners mus' be met.

         But 'ip 'ooray!
            Fer we 'ardly thort
         When we sailed away
            That we'd land in port.
         An' a cheer for fust-mate Joe!
         'E's a rare ole salt is Joe.
'E seen us thro', fer 'e hazed the crew,
         An' 'e cowed 'em good an' quick.
Fer the lubbers started growlin' when the windy storms wus howlin'
         But Joe he done the trick.

   Ho! the seas wus rough at Finance rock,
      An' we nigh on guv up 'ope:
   Fer the crew went wild; but the capting smiled
      When the fust mate seized a rope.
   With a good rope's-end 'e set to mend
      Their ways wi' a rough, rude shock;
   An' 'e hazed 'em good, as a fust mate should,
      An' we weathered Finance rock.

         O, the seas wus bad,
            An' the crazy crew
         Wus nigh on mad,
            An' the tempest grew,
         An' it looked like Davey Jones;
                     I owns
         I thort of Davey Jones.
But the fust mate 'e smelled mu-ti-nee,
         An' 'e seized a rope's-end tough,
An' 'e druv 'em to their places, with terror on their faces,
         Till they sed they 'ad enough.

   Ho, the good ship Fusion's nigh to port,
      An' it's joy fer ev'ry 'and.
   But the capting 'e sits mournfullee,
      A-watchin' of the land.
   Fer the course 'e took ain't by the book
      As 'is owner told 'im to;
   Fer 'e left the chart to the fust mate's part,
      An' the 'andlin' of the crew.

         But it's 'ip 'ooray!
            Ses the foremast 'and,
         Fer the joyful day
            When we treads the land
         In the harbor of Recess.
                     O yes,
         There's a rest at Port Recess.
An' it's 'ip, 'ip, 'ip! fer the Fusion ship,
         Fer 'er sailin' days is o'er.
She's a 'ulk they're all abusin', an' she's seed 'er last o' cruisin',
         An' she'll put to sea no more. 

First published in The Bulletin, 16 December 1909

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on December 16, 2013 7:23 AM.

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